


The Engineer

by creativetherapy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Action & Romance, Drama, F/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:57:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativetherapy/pseuds/creativetherapy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They finished the last job, but something's gone wrong. Arthur's seen this before, but last time it ended in tragedy. It might be possible to pull Dom out of his self-created dreamworld, but finding that help, and convincing it, is a challenge of its own - particularly for Arthur. Will it be possible for him and Ariadne to bring Dom back to reality before he follows Mal's fatal footsteps? Possibly, but doing so will require more than a crack team and skilled architect - it will require an engineer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Promise

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at fan fiction, and a work in progress. Please enjoy!

Arthur was silent, his brow furrowed as he watched the scenery slip by outside the window of the train. A tense calm nested between the group as the car swayed rhythmically. The evening sun, stretching out over the fields of dry grass, stung his eyes and he blinked hard.

“Hey, sleepy head.” A soft voice caressed his ear, and Arthur opened his eyes. He smiled at the curved silhouette blocking the sunset and holding out a glass of wine.  
“Was I sleeping?” He took the wine, scooting over in the oversized Adirondack and making room for the woman.  
“I don't blame you.” His companion joined him, resting her head on his shoulder, curving her knee over his. “It's the first break you've gotten since this whole stupid business began.”  
“It's gonna be big.” Arthur frowned, staring at the glass of wine as he spun the stem between his thumb and index finger, watching the splotch of pink light it cast on the arm of the chair dance. “If your brother -”  
“Let's not talk about my brother.” The woman pleaded exasperatedly. She rolled slightly, her leg draped over him as she reached up, balancing the glass of wine above his shoulder and looking him in the eye. “Let's not talk about anything.”  
Arthur smiled as she leaned in, his free hand moving to caress her leg, clad in an easy, flowing chiffon skirt, and up to the soft sweater keeping her warm against the cooling autumn air. He set his wine glass down as he kissed her, losing himself to her lips, and the faint scent of dry grass and nearby orchards blowing on the gentle breeze.

“Arthur!”  
Arthur woke with a start to Ariadne staring indignantly at him from across the car.  
“Where are we going?”  
Arthur looked out the window. The scenery was growing darker, and more darkly familiar. They were nearing their stop.  
“We're going to need help.” He answered, standing and crossing the car.  
“Not actually my question.” Ariadne rolled her eyes in frustration and rose, making the quick cross to where Arthur was trying to roust an unconscious Dominic Cobb, who had spent the trip passed out on the edge of the long seat, slumped against the side of the car.  
“We're going to find someone who can help.” Arthur only partially clarified as he reached into his pocket and produced a miniature bottle of hotel vodka.  
“You really think this is the time to start making cocktails?” Ariadne remarked snidely over his shoulder. Arthur set his jaw and splashed the contents onto Dom's shirt before gently slapping his friend's face.  
“Come on, wake up.”  
Dom's eyes opened heavily.  
“What? What is this?” He mumbled blearily as Arthur, with the help of Ariadne, hoisted him to his feet.  
“You really did a number on him.” Ariadne's knees buckled under Dom's clumsy weight. “What did you give him?”  
“Never mind that. Get the bag” Arthur retorted, shouldering the bulk of his partner's weight so Ariadne could reach for the duffel bag containing the dream equipment.  
“What's going on? Where are you taking me?” Dom slurred, still seemingly only half awake.  
“Anybody asks, his dad just died.”

Nobody asked as the two eased what appeared to be the stumbling drunk down the aisle of the train and out onto the platform.  
“Now what?” Ariadne side glanced Arthur as they stood on the concrete slab.  
“This way.”  
Arthur led them through the small station, past a dilapidated news stand and out to the curb, where a taxi idled, the driver leaning against the hood, waiting expectantly.  
“Mr. - “  
“That's us.” Arthur didn't wait for introductions as he opened the door and shoved Dom into the seat. Ariadne slid in next to him and Arthur closed the door, giving the cabby quick directions before going around the back of the taxi and taking the window seat on the opposite side, leaving Dom unwillingly but helplessly sandwiched between the two.

Ariadne looked around at the rolling fields, peppered with the occasional cluster of trees. The sky to the east was dark, stars just beginning to glimmer above the horizon.  
“We're going to find someone to help us way out here?” She sounded as skeptical as Arthur felt.  
“I'm not sure.” He said at length as the cab clicked down the weary miles.

 

Arthur sat in the darkness of the cab. Memories, like shadows in the night, traced thin outlines in his mind as he clung to the edges of consciousness. The tires, grinding away on the concrete outside, seemed to hum. In the white noise the remnants of a conversations repeated, over and over, as if on loop.  
“No more, Arthur. Please. It's too dangerous. We've only been pretending to control it.”  
“Okay. No more.”  
“Promise me.”  
“I promise.”  
His own words echoed in his head, as steady and unending as the broken yellow stripe stretching down the center of the road. I promise. I promise. I promise. I promise.

“Where are you?”  
The static in the call made Dom's voice almost impossible to understand.  
“I need you to be on the next possible flight to Amsterdam, okay? I've got a friend there, he'll tell you where to go next.”  
Arthur looked around the quiet living room. In the gray hours of the early morning, the room seemed exceptionally still. All around him, out the floor to ceiling windows that accounted for the bulk of the room's walls, the tall wild grasses bent and swayed, as though just starting to wake up themselves.  
“I – I can't, Cobb.” Arthur tried to keep his voice down, casting a quick glance over his shoulder, toward the upstairs loft that led to the master bedroom.  
“I can't do this without you.” His friend's voice crackled over the line. “I need a point man, okay? Someone I can trust. These men I'm working for, they don't let sloppy work slide.”  
“Yeah, but Cobb -”  
“I need you, Arthur.” There was a silence as Arthur let the desperation in Cobb's voice settle in, shockingly clear over the bad connection. “This is my life at stake. I wouldn't ask if there was anyone else I could trust.”  
Arthur glanced at the clock on the mantel. The sun would be coming up over the horizon soon. The room seemed lit with the last of night's ambient light.  
“Arthur?” Cobb's voice broke the silence.  
“Yeah.” Arthur said, after a pause. “I'll be there.”

 

“Where are we, anyway?” Ariadne strained to see signs of life outside the window.  
“There's nothing out there.” Arthur looked down at his hands, outlined blue by the pale light of the moon, shining through the rear window of the car. “Nearest city is the vacation town we just left... about half an hour NorthEast of where we're headed.”  
“Where is that?” Ariadne looked across the car, past the unconscious Dominic, who sat sandwiched between them.  
“I know someone who lives out here, who knows the ins and outs of dream sharing better than...I don't know, better than anyone, maybe. Might be able to help.” He found himself getting anxious as the cab barreled ever closer to their destination.  
“Another architect?” Ariadne asked.  
“No.” Arthur met her gaze. “An engineer.”  
The party returned to silence and Arthur's thoughts returned to him, expected yet unwelcome, like the party guest who was only invited for politeness' sake.

The feeling of the paper as he creased it between his fingers, the quickly-written but carefully chosen words as he penned them, the click of the keys in the lock as he let himself out, and the crunch of the tires down the driveway joined the rhythm of the road, composing a symphony of guilt and regret to the steady refrain, “I promise. I promise. I promise. I promise”.


	2. Diana

The cab glided over the paved driveway, popping fallen walnut hulls like giant bubble wrap beneath the tires. Arthur swallowed as the cabby slowed to a stop. In front of them, quiet in the darkness, stood a house; a modern renovation to what was, at its core, a comfortable, classic two-story cottage. A small set of stairs led to a wide porch, which curved around toward the back of the house. Though it wasn't immediately visible, Arthur pictured the back of the house; a long, wide living space made of angles and glass, modern lines swaddling the classic feeling of the original structure, surrounded by the quiet American countryside.

  
“Stay here.” Arthur instructed Ariadne, getting out of the cab and walking the last few feet to the steps. He cast a worried glance to a darkened window on the second floor.

  
His feet made damp thudding sounds on the wooden steps, and a cluster of leaves matted in the corner told him it must have rained rained recently. His mind raced with half-considered scenarios and roughly outlined conversations, trying to prepare himself for any situation. He pawed inside his jacket pocket, producing a small cluster of keys. Flicking through them slowly, he selected a neglected silver house key, setting it to the lock before stopping.

  
Arthur stood at the door, looking at the key, set against the door handle, poised to be inserted into the lock, and wondering. Whether out of consideration for the late hour and the potential shock he'd pose to the resident he expected to find inside or his fear that he might find the locks changed during his absence, Arthur shoved the key back into his pocket, instead pressing the doorbell and, just to be sure, rapping on the heavy wooden door. Somewhere inside, a dog barked, and Arthur rang the doorbell again, to be sure he was heard. The point man took a step back and glanced up to the second-floor window. A light clicked on from inside the room. Arthur knocked again, bouncing on the balls of his feet with nerves. He thought about rehearsing what he might say, but settled on chewing on the inside of his lip and staring at the wet leaves matted around the edges of the welcome mat.

The barking grew louder and the porch light flipped on. Arthur looked up as he heard the bolt click and the door handle turn. The door cracked open. A face peeked out, cautious and sleepy, that wiped any words from Arthur's mind.

  
“Hi.” was all he could manage as she stared at him with an expression he had never seen before; a mixture of surprise, latent hurt and a veneer of forced indifference.

  
The woman disappeared behind the door, moving to slam it in Arthur's face. She would have succeeded, had Arthur not been quicker. His foot ached as the heavy door crushed against it, allowing him enough space to wedge against the door and the door frame.

  
“Diana, please. Listen -”

  
The dog barked. The woman relented and disappeared from behind the door, trying to quiet the dog. As he pushed the door open in the dim light, Arthur caught a glimpse of Diana setting something on the area table around the corner as she left the entryway and met the dog in the hall.  
“Morpheus, hush!” Diana scolded the large brindled boxer mix, who stood, wagging his tail in excitement and barking at the newcomer, a familiar face from his long ago puppy days.

  
“Morpheus!” Arthur knelt, calling to the dog, who broke free of his owner and clattered over the wood floors to the man, sniffing him excitedly and checking his hands for treats. Arthur looked up. Standing in the hall by herself, Diana looked somehow different. Her hair, which Arthur remembered as long and loose around her shoulders, was now cropped close to her head, but the difference was deeper. It was a difference in the way she held herself, and a hardness in how she looked at him.

  
“You cut your hair.” Arthur ventured. “I like it.”

  
Diana's eyes widened and her jaw clenched, as though fighting the urge to scream. Shaking her head, she turned, stalking into the living room and up the steps to the second floor, toward the master bedroom.

  
“Diana!” Arthur called after her, standing and following her through the house, which felt all at once both warmly familiar and wholly alien.

  
“Diana, wait.” Arthur followed the woman through the open bedroom door. The bed-side light shone a muted, yellowed glow across the gray bedspread. An open black carry-on lay on the bed, which Diana was filling rather forcefully. “Let me explain -”

  
“You did, explain, Arthur.” The woman spat. “With Dom. I'm sorry.” That explains everything, doesn't it?”

  
“Diana-”

  
“Eighteen months, Arthur! Eighteen months you've been gone, without so much as phone call!” The ragged edge in Diana's voice betrayed her as she raised her voice to him.

  
“I couldn't call - “Arthur began calmly.

  
“Dom could!” Diana stopped throwing clothes into the suitcase and fixed Arthur with an angry glare. “Dom managed to pick up a phone and call the kids! How do you think it felt when I'd talk to James and Phillipa and they'd say “we talked to Daddy today.”? And you were with him, Arthur. You couldn't pick up the damn phone!”

  
Arthur swallowed. How could he explain it to her? How could he possibly explain why he never found the strength to dial the number? How he feared having to hear her voice from thousands of miles away, and how he told himself explaining everything in person would be better than a phone call?

  
“I wrote to you.” He offered at length.

  
Diana scoffed. “Yeah, that and the roses you send every week almost make up for walking out.”

  
She zipped the carry-on, pulling it off the bed and wheeling it across the room.

  
“I didn't -”

  
“What would you call it, Arthur?”

  
Diana tried to push past him, but Arthur stood his ground, passively blocking her path.

  
“Look,” He said firmly. “I'm sorry. I gave up everything. I gave up my life, I gave up what I had here with you – I put that all on the line because Dom called me and said his life was at stake. I risked everything I had to help him, and I thought – I thought you would understand that.”

  
Diana stood, inches from him. So close she could hear his breathing; smell his aftershave. She closed her eyes, bracing herself against the way he looked at her, and how much she had missed his brown eyes.

  
“Move, please.” She managed quietly, her voice shaking.

  
Arthur obliged, stepping out of the way and allowing her to pass, but following close behind her.

  
“Diana, please.” Arthur spoke quickly, but gently. “We need your help.”

  
“I'm done helping you, Arthur. I-”

  
Diana stopped, staring straight ahead at the open front door, where the cabby stood, lugging Dom at his side.  
“Oh, my God.” Diana gasped in disbelief, dropping her bag to the floor.

  
“Dom!? Dom?” Diana screamed as Dom lurched forward, nearly hitting the ground before she caught him and slipped her shoulder under his arm. Arthur joined her, pushing some cash into the cabby's fist and sending him out the door, taking the rest of his friend's weight upon himself.  
Dom coughed, dry heaving over the wood flooring.

  
“Dom?” Diana ran a worried hand over his cheek. “My God, what happened? Why did you bring him here?” She stared, panicked, at Arthur. “How did he even get into the country?”

  
“Saito made a phone call.” Ariadne explained as briefly as she could as she entered behind them.

  
“What?” Diana started a little at the unfamiliar voice of the strange young woman.

  
“A client fixed it for him.” Arthur led the way into the living room, and together with Diana deposited Dom onto the sleek couch.

  
“What do you mean, a client -”

  
“I don't know who he talked to or what he said, and it doesn't matter.” Arthur ended the interrogation abruptly. “Dom found his way back home.”

  
“Dom?” Seated, Diana could get a better look a the disheveled former-architect.

  
“Something went wrong.” Arthur explained. “In the dream.”

  
“Where am I?” Dom doubled over, his head in his hands, as though emerging from drunkeness into the worst hangover in recorded history. “What's going on?”

  
“Dom” Diana crouched in front of him, putting her hands on his knees. “Dom, it's Diana.”

  
“What?” Dom looked up, surveying the room and the woman in front of him with confusion and disbelief.

  
“You're at my house, Dom. You're safe.” She assured him.

  
“No.” Dom shook his head, his brow knit as he saw Ariadne and Arthur standing nearby. He glared at them furiously. “No, this isn't real!”  
He pushed Diana's hands away angrily and tried to stand, falling against the couch as he spat angrily, “You're not real! You're not my sister!”

  
“Dom!” Diana tried to make herself heard over him.

“YOU'RE NOT DIANA COBB!" The effort of his outrage left him dissolving into coughing, retching spasms. Ariadne stared dumbstruck at the scene unfolding in front of her.

  
“What the hell did you give him?” Diana turned, her expression every bit as panicked and enraged as her brother's “What happened?”

  
“The last job -” Arthur began.

  
“He fell into limbo.” Ariadne's voice felt small in the large room and insignificant against the woman standing before her and the man who seemed to know her well. “He got lost.”

  
“Like Mal.” Arthur said, seriously and without apology. “We need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy what you've read, please leave a comment.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Ariadne stood at the fireplace, staring at the photographs on the mantle; footnotes to a story she was only starting to understand. It was a story peppered with cocktail dresses and jersey knits, holiday parties and quiet afternoons.

“I owe you an explanation.” Arthur stood beside her, looking at the pictures over her shoulder.

“I think I'm starting to get it.” Ariadne replied. She turned her attention away from a photo of Diana and Arthur with Dom, Mal and Eames at a party to where Diana sat in a chair in front of Dom. The siblings were leaning in, talking to each other in hushed tones.

“She doesn't seem to like you much.” Ariadne mused simply.

“She's got her reasons.” Arthur perused the mantle, making note of the fact there were far fewer photographs than he remembered. He didn't need to take inventory to know the ones missing were those with his face. With the exception of the group photo, any photographic evidence of his existence seemed to have been eradicated. A small silver frame lay face down at the back of the mantle shelf. Ariadne reached for it, turning it to right it again. Arthur's stomach clenched and his throat tightened when he saw the picture. Ariadne stared at it, admiring it at first and then frowning. It was a close shot of Diana and Arthur, looking very much in love. Diana's hand caressed gently against his jaw, and on her finger...

“Wait a second...” She looked from the photo to Arthur, then back to the photo and across the room to Diana. “Arthur,” she said, staring intensely with her brown eyes “is Diana your _wife?_ ”

“No.” Arthur answered truthfully, studying the photograph in Ariadne's hands. “But almost.”

For the second time that evening, ghosts of conversations long since past replayed themselves in Arthur's mind.

 

_“Oh, my God.”_

_“Will you?”_

_“I... Yes, Arthur. Of course, yes!”_

 

“So where does that leave you now?” Ariadne stared at him with a mix of confusion and anger. “Because if she's still got this picture... When you kissed me -”

“Okay, when I kissed you, it was -” Before he could finish, a noise behind him caught his attention. Diana stood, arms crossed, clearing her throat.

“Can I talk to you both?” She asked calmly, though her eyes stared daggers into Arthur.

“Sure.” Ariadne nodded nervously, following the woman out of the living room and into the adjacent kitchen.

 

“I don't know what you've been doing,” Diana glared pointedly at Arthur, sure he'd pick up on the double entendre “but his mind is completely backwards.” Diana leaned against the center island, waiting for an explanation.

“He spent too much time in limbo.” Arthur leaned against the doorway, crossing his ankles, and shoving one hand into his trouser pocket.

“How did he drop into limbo in the first place?” Diana demanded.

“He followed a subject who got killed in the dream.” Ariadne explained, trying to look as professional as possible, and dreading what Diana might have overheard. There was something about Dom's sister she found wholly intimidating.

“You get killed in a dream, you wake up.” Diana shook her head.

“Not this time.” Arthur interjected.

“What?”  
“The important thing is he spent too much time down there and now-”

“The dream is his reality.” Ariadne finished.

Diana shifted her weight as she leaned her back against the center island, crossing her ankles and looking from Arthur to Ariadne skeptically.

“And you think I can help you?”

“Arthur said you could.” Ariadne offered.

“Arthur says a lot of things.” Diana spat. “I wouldn't take his word as gospel.”

“Diana, you know how dream sharing works better than any of us.” Arthur spoke calmly.

“Nobody knows how dream sharing works.” Diana corrected. “Not really.”

She sighed, staring at the tiled kitchen floor as though searching for answers in the grouting.

“Look, what you're asking – what you need... To wake Dom up, it's... it goes so far beyond extraction.” She shook her head.

“Inception?” Ariadne looked to Arthur.

“Borderline eradication.” Diana corrected. “To get him to realize for himself that he's dreaming and give up on his dream world entirely? And to do it without inadvertently planting something destructive...”

“We don't have a choice.” Arthur responded blankly. He wondered, for a moment, why he cared. Why he was helping Dom at all? Dom had lied to him. For 18 months, Dom had led him from one last job to another, always hoping, never delivering. He had put his life and everyone else's in danger for the sake of a shot in the dark. He had followed Fischer into limbo on his own. Why did Arthur care? The worry lines in Diana's brow as she thought things over gave an answer stronger than words. He cared because he wanted things to go back to the way they were. He _needed_ them to.

“To even follow him into limbo...” Diana muttered, the wheels in her mind turning rapidly.

“A sedative in the compound.” Ariadne offered. “Like we used on Fischer.” She looked again to Arthur, who stood, frowning and distracted, staring at the floor.

“It's not that easy.” Diana shook her head. “We need him to be able to wake himself up.”

“What?” Ariadne cocked her head in confusion. “You mean, without a kick?”

“You're still using that damn kick?” Diana rolled her eyes at Arthur.

“The kick is safe.” Arthur protested.

“The kick is not safe.” Diana countered vehemently. “It's what I've said all along! The compounds and the kick – they were never meant to be more than training wheels.”

“Training wheels for what?” Ariadne looked curiously to the woman.

Diana fixed Ariadne with a look and suddenly the young architect saw the family resemblance between Miles Cobb and his daughter. The teacherly gaze made her feel as though she were back in class.

“What do you think is the biggest risk in dream sharing? The number one rule, so you don't get lost in the dream?” Diana watched her critically, wondering how well her older brother had trained the new recruit, if at all.

“Um...I don't know...” Ariadne shifted uncomfortably. “Don't build from memory, I guess.”

“Wrong.” Diana spoke so like her older brother, Ariadne could see dream sharing was something of a family passion. “The biggest risk in dream sharing is waking up. More specifically, waking up incorrectly. You ever wake up suddenly and forget for a minute where you are?”

“Sure.” Ariadne shrugged.

“Yeah, well, getting lost in a dream is like that, only a million times worse, because the compounds are designed to make everything about the dream feel more real. The kick doesn't give you the time you need to extract yourself mentally from the dream world.”

“So... you can do it? Without a kick – you can wake yourself up?”

“Yes.” Diana confirmed.

“In theory.” Arthur qualified.

“When the military first began experimenting in dream sharing, they intended to train their troops in lucid dreaming –“

“Controlling your dream consciously, even while asleep.” Arthur explained.

“But it didn't provide the... realism... they were looking for in their training exercises.” Diana nodded.

“Meaning it's a lot less scary to get shot at when you know you're dreaming.” Ariadne finished the thought.

“Exactly.” Diana nodded. “And when you can choose to wake up.”

“So you plan to...”

“To go into Dom's subconscious, help him realize he's dreaming, and wake himself up.”

“And that will get him back?” Ariadne raised her eyebrows, trying to push aside the skepticism and find the hope.

“What are you three doing in here?”

Dom's voice startled the group. Arthur glanced over his shoulder, where Dom stood, looking cold and distant.

“Dom, you're -” The color drained from Diana's features. “Dom, where did you get the gun?”

 


	4. Going Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recently edited. Read again for chapter 9 to make sense.

Arthur whirled around to see a sleek black handgun clenched in Dom's fist.

 

“I found it on the area table.” Dom state blankly. “Funny, Diana. You don't carry a gun.”

 

“It's been a recent development.” Diana raised her hands gently in front of her, showing her brother she had no intention of making sudden moves. “It's hard for any thief to cover their tracks. Even extractors. I didn't want to meet your business partners on my doorstep unprepared.”

 

“That's what this is about.” Dom's eyes flashed, as though he suddenly understood the answer to a question no one else knew. “Somebody wants revenge for a job gone sideways.”

“Cobb, that's not -” Arthur began

“Who was it!? Cobol? Steltek? ExCorp?” He shouted the names, raising the gun and leveling it at his sister. Morpheus, who had been sleeping soundly on a worn pillow near the door, woke with the shouting and stood

“Cobb, don't do this!” Arthur shouted. “This isn't how you handle things, remember!”

 

“What will shooting me accomplish, Dom?” Diana desperately tried to maintain a calmness in her voice. “If this is just a dream?”

 

“I'm not going to kill you.” Dom assured, his voice cold and calculating. “Am I, Arthur?”

 

Dom shifted his aim and it felt as though the world turned in the fraction of a second. Arthur lurched forward. Morpheus barked. A gunshot. A scream. A punch. The sound of shattering glass as Dom's head connected with the marble counter top, sending flying the wine stems that dangled from the bottom of the cupboard above.

 

Then, as quickly as the world turned, it stopped, like the black void left in the wake of a supernova. The room filled with a deafening silence that seemed to stretch out far beyond the walls of the house.

 

“Cobb!” Ariadne rushed to the side of her unconscious mentor, who lay in a spray of shattered glass, a massive welt already forming on his forehead.

 

“Diana!” Arthur yelled at almost the same moment, crossing the kitchen quickly to where the woman sat crumbled against the center island. “Are you alright!?” He knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her, trying to calm her shaking “God damnit -”

 

Diana buried her face against his chest, clutching his crisp plaid button up shirt as though it were armor. Her breath caught in her throat. She was unaware of the tears that streamed down her face. The room felt hazy. The only sure thing was the man in the plaid shirt, whose strong arms held her close and whose fingers trailed instinctively through the hair at the back of her head. She clung to him like a life vest.

 

“I'm okay. I'm okay, I'm okay.” She nodded, her voice sounding foreign in her ears as she refused to look up. She opened her eyes. Dom lay on the floor, the soles of his feet facing her. Ariadne knelt over him, herself recovering from the near-horror of the almost events. The gun lay on the floor between them. Breaking free of Arthur's embrace momentarily, she stretched forward, picking the gun up from the floor and removing the clip before dropping it again as though it seared her hands. She collapsed back against the island, exhaling sharply.

 

“Oh, God, Diana -” Panic shot through Arthur's voice as he gingerly reached for the woman's arm. Blood trickled from Diana's upper left bicep, just below the shoulder. Her gray off-the-shoulder shirt shorn away at the sleeve by the bullet.

 

Diana looked down.

 

“It just grazed me.” She said, watching the blood flow from her arm with a mix of shock and fascination, as though failing to register it as her own. “I'm okay.”

 

Arthur straightened partially, reaching over the edge of the island for the dish towel laying on the counter top. Hurriedly, he wrapped it around her arm, pressing hard to stem the steady flow of blood.

 

“Arthur,” She reached up, taking his hand in hers, her fingers wrapping around onto his palm as her breathing returned to normal. He raised his coffee brown eyes, his face drained of color, and she met him with her own green eyes. “I'm okay.” She squeezed his hand unconsciously. “Really.”

 

Arthur let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his panic-stricken features relaxing slightly. Diana sat for a moment, collecting herself and holding the dish towel against the stinging, but relatively minor wound.

 

“Let's get him under.” A hard edge of determination laced Diana's words as she stood, wiping her eyes quickly and crossing the kitchen to where her brother lay in the doorway.

 

“Ariadne, get the bag.” Arthur ordered briskly as he stood, following Diana and helping her lift Dom's limp body and drag it back toward the living room.

 

“You're going to go under? Now?” Ariadne sounded shocked as she retrieved the duffel bag from behind the open staircase at the edge of the living room.

 

“Now might be the best chance we get.” Diana straightened as Dom slumped back onto the couch. “Not likely that he'll go under willingly, and we can't sedate him if this is going to work.”

 

“But he could have a concussion! He could be seriously hurt -” Ariadne watched, mildly horrified as Arthur opened the duffel bag and began setting up the dream sharing device on the coffee table. Diana disappeared momentarily down the hall, toward the darkened end of the house.

 

“He'll be fine.” Arthur dismissed her concern, unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt and rolling the sleeve back. “There's a first responder kit in the duffel bag. Use that to monitor him.”

 

“And if something's wrong?” Ariadne demanded.

 

“Alarm clock.” Diana reappeared, tossing a small metal alarm clock to Ariadne quickly.   
“Should be all I need. We can deal with Dom up here when I wake up.”

 

She crossed to the coffee table, inserting a small vial into the device.

 

“What's that?” Arthur asked as he connected the IV tubes.

 

“New compound.” Diana replied, checking to make sure it had loaded correctly. “I've been working on it with Mark.”

 

“Sheridan?”

 

Diana glanced up, arching a brow at the derisive edge in Arthur's voice. She frowned as she realized he had connected three IV tubes and was settling himself in a chair.

 

“I can do this myself.” She said shortly, reaching for the free IV tube.

“We have no idea what's waiting down there.” Arthur retorted. “I've seen what he's capable of these days. I'm coming with you.”

 

“I don't think that's a good idea.” Diana pushed up the sleeve on her gray jersey top and sitting next to Dom on the couch.

 

“I'm coming with you.” Arthur repeated with finality.

 

Diana pursed her lips, but didn't argue as she inserted the needle into her vein. Arthur did the same as Ariadne hooked up Dom.

 

“Ready?” Diana glanced from her unconscious brother to where Arthur sat in the club chair.

 

Arthur shifted in his seat, tilting his head back to rest on the back cushion. “See you down there.”

 

Ariadne swallowed nervously, looking to Diana for her cue. The woman nodded. Ariadne pushed the button. A subtle whoosh from the machine, and she was left with only Morpheus the dog for company.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking your time to read what I've written.


	5. The Door

Rain poured down onto the gray city streets. Traffic whizzed by, splashing waves onto the curb. Diana hunched her shoulders against the torrent of water and looked up and down the block. Arthur stood at her shoulder, collar flipped in an attempt to keep the back of his neck dry.

“Dom can't dream anymore.” Diana watched the cars passing. “He doesn't create. Which means what we find down here will be memory.”

She looked up. Clouds hovered, slate gray and angry against the rain slicked sides of concrete skyscrapers.

“I don't recognize this place.” She muttered.

“I do” Arthur's voice was ominous. He looked down the street. A block away, a black SUV rounded the corner. He set his jaw tensely, gripping Diana's arm below the shoulder. “We gotta go.”

Arthur turned, leading her down a side street hurriedly.

“What's wrong?” Diana jogged to keep pace, her arm aching slightly. Tires screeched in the street behind them. Arthur hazarded a glance over his shoulder before rushing Diana through the glass double doors of the nearest building.

“You're right. This is a memory.” Arthur explained, looking straight ahead as he made a bee line for the front desk, which was inexplicably abandoned, like the rest of the lobby. “But it's a memory of a dream. This is the first level of the Fischer job.”

“What happened on the Fischer job?”

The glass doors exploded in a hail of gunfire behind them.

“GET DOWN!” Arthur yelled, pulling Diana behind the desk.

Tires squealed as two black SUVs came to an abrupt stop outside. Projections in black ski masks filtered out, approaching the building in SWAT formation, guns at the ready.

“Stay down.” Arthur ordered, cocking a gun which he had produced seemingly from nowhere.

The projections closed in, flanking the desk in teams of three. Arthur stood, firing two shots before a rain of bullets forced him back under the desk. He paused, only for a moment, to catch a breath before once again standing, firing shot after shot, downing projections one at a time.

Arthur's throat was dry as he realized they were coming faster than he could hold them off.

Diana stood, quickly lobbing something small and round over the desk into the middle of the lobby.

“Cover!” She grabbed Arthur's shirt, tugging him under the desk as the grenade exploded.

Dust and the clatter of rubble gave way to a momentary silence. The two stood to see projections splayed across the lobby floor, unconscious or dead.

“That bought us some time.” Diana quipped darkly, cocking a hand gun.

Four projections appeared from behind pillars, where they had taken shelter from the grenade blast. Arthur leveled shots at the right flank while Diana managed the left, laying two projections flat with three shots.

“I forgot you could shoot like that.”

“You should see me with a real gun.” The sound of shots still hung in the air, but the flurried sound of screaming traffic outside told the pair more projections were on their way.

“We've got to get out of here.” Diana's voice was rushed as her thoughts turned a million miles a minute, trying to outrun the arrival of the impending projections. “Dom's using this to protect _his_ dreamworld, so somewhere there's got to be a door.”

“A door?”

“An entrance. A – a way to get from here to wherever it is he _wants_ to be.” She looked around, past the lobby and toward the back of the building, where stairs and a bank of elevators stood half obscured in dust and shadow. “It'll be something distinctly Dom.” She glanced around quickly before jogging in the direction of the elevators.

“Like what?” Arthur followed her, gun still drawn, eyes darting in all directions, looking for projections.

“I don't know, Arthur. Use your imagination.”

“You sound like Eames.”

“Have you seen Richard lately? How's he doing?” Diana stopped outside one of the elevators, looking up to Arthur with a casual interest. Arthur stared back with a bemused coldness. Something about her using Eames' first name always had struck a sore spot.

“So where do we look?” Arthur asked, returning to the original subject.

Shouts behind them warned them the projections were once again closing in.

“I don't know.” Diana reached out, pressing the “up” button outside the elevator doors. The light above the door frame lit up with a ding.

“Let's go.” She grabbed Arthur's hand. Instead of entering through the gaping doors of the elevator, she pulled him down the hall, where a single glass door led to the street outside.

“That's not going to fool them.” Arthur spat critically as they paused outside the door. The rain was letting up. At the end of the block, a black SUV whizzed by toward the front entrance of the building.

“You have a better idea, then?” Diana spat back.

“Run.”

Leading the way, Arthur ran down the street, away from the oncoming SUVs, rounding the block and breathing hard, he wove his way through the complex web of city streets, Diana at his heels.

The rain continued to lessen. The traffic seemed to slow slightly, from the frenzied pack of bumper-to-bumper traffic to a steadier, sleepier pace. Arthur slowed, stopping at a corner and looking around.

“Wait, wait, wait.” He held an arm out, stopping Diana. She doubled over next to him, catching her breath. “This is different. This isn't from the Fischer job.”

Diana looked up, her hands on her knees. “I recognize this.” She said, still breathing hard. She straightened. “It's a little street in my grandma's village. There's a patisserie down there Miles used to take us to when we were kids.”

“You think that's it?”

A blast in the distance made them jump, and they were off again, jogging down the street in the direction Diana had indicated.

The door to the patisserie was stooped and set far back into thick stone walls. Flowers grew in window boxes outside the crooked frame, paned with old and weathered glass. Diana reached for the handle, pulling the sturdy wooden door open and entering the building.

“Whoa.” Diana gasped in surprise. “This...this is not a patisserie.”

“But,” Arthur finished the thought, “We've found our door.”

In place of the cramped but friendly bakery Diana remembered, a huge ballroom sprawled out in front of them. Chandeliers hung, glittering from the ceiling 30 feet above. Balconies surrounded the rooms, held up by majestic columns surrounding a wide dance floor. A classical ensemble attired in black tuxedos played on a slightly raised bandstand, near a wide Christmas tree that towered over the countless guests, in tuxedos and evening dresses.

“Prague.” Arthur gazed around the hall, and up toward the balconies on the second floor.

“The conference over Christmas...” Under other circumstances, Diana might have been nostalgic, but there was something very unsettling about the whole scenario.

“When Eames and I were taken onto the project.” Arthur remembered.

“The week James was born.” Diana watched the faces, shades of people once known and most forgotten. “He was two days old when Dom and I flew out with Miles. Dom's here.”

“Yeah, but so are we.” The point man retorted. “We don't want to run into ourselves.”

“Split up, try to find him?” Diana suggested quietly, pulling back slightly against the wall, trying to make herself invisible as the projections glanced their direction in passing. The icy stares sent chills up her spine.

“Rendezvous upstairs in 10 minutes.” Arthur nodded. “And try to blend in.”

“You should talk.” Diana muttered, “Look at you, you -”

She stopped short, stunned to see Arthur smirking smugly at her, dressed to the nines in an immaculate black tuxedo.

“You look great.” She edited her response awkwardly.

“So do you.” Arthur nodded slightly. Diana looked down at the evening gown she now wore; diaphanous and alluring, with an upscale sense of class. “I've always loved that dress on you.”

Diana opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, setting her jaw resignedly and with a slight shake of her head turning from Arthur.

“10 minutes.” She murmured to herself as she walked away, her gown fluttering behind her in the breezes of her stride.


	6. A Russian Waltz

 

_Focus. Focus. Focus. Focus._

 

Diana repeated the word to herself over and over again, making it a mantra and syncing it to the rhythm of her steps. This had been a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. She should never have let Arthur follow her into Dom's subconscious.

 

 _Arthur_.

 

Her breath caught in her chest, held hostage by the tight lump swelling in her throat, making her eyes water. Quickly, she ducked behind one of the ornate columns lining the dance floor, leaning against it to catch her breath and choke back the surge of emotion she had been stemming since he first appeared on her doorstep at 12:30 in the morning.

It had been a meeting she had imagined countless times in her head, but never like that. His face, bathed in the pale yellow glow of the porch light, surrounded by damp leaves and darkness; standing, staring haplessly, as though he was unsure himself how he managed to show up on a doorstep he had so unexpectedly disappeared from more than a year ago.

The music swirled around her. Projections in formal wear mingled. Champagne glasses clinked among the dull hum of polite conversation. She remembered this night. She would always remember this night.

 

_“Arthur, good to see you. How've you been?”_

_“Dom! Congratulations.”_

_“Oh, thank you. Six pounds eight ounces, and perfect.”_

_“How's Mal?”_

_“Disappointed she couldn't be here, but in love with little James. Arthur, I'd like you to meet my sister Diana Cobb. Diana, this is Arthur. We met during the New River experiments.”_

_“Nice to meet you.”_

 

Why this night? Why of all the memories he could have used as filters in this maze, why this night? The chandeliers glittered above the dancers as the music rose and resonated against the ornate vaulted ceilings. The scent of pine from the Christmas tree wafted through the air.

 

He had asked her to dance that night. She had politely declined him.

 

_“Would you like to dance?”_

_“You dance?”_

_“Well, you know. Some kids' mother's put them in karate. Mine had me ballroom dancing.”_

_“I don't think anyone actually dances at these things.”_

_“Some other time, then.”_

 

“Focus.” She closed her eyes, trying to shake the memories from her head. The months apart had clad her in a thin, invisible armor, in which she felt suffocated but safe. She hated Dom for remembering this night. She hated herself and Arthur. She dug her heels into the hate, pulling it around her like a shield, taking shelter behind the bitterness to drown out the pain of sentimentality and heartbreak. “Just do your job and get out of here.”

 

_Focus. Focus. Focus._

 

Arthur stood at the perimeter of the dance floor, listening to the music and watching projections chatter among themselves on the otherwise disused surface.

 _Diana was right._ He thought to himself. _Nobody dances at these things._

It seemed a waste of resources to him; an ensemble to play music for people to ignore, a dance floor for people to stand and talk business. He admired the ornate architecture, which seemed spent on a crowd who would have been just as at home in a standard boardroom. He had always enjoyed indulging in the aesthetic appeal of dreams, but this was reality, or rather, it had been.

 

_Why this night, Dom? What was it about this night?_

 

His gaze meandered up to the balcony. He remembered standing there, watching the throng, keeping an eye open for the man he'd not seen in years, but never lost track of. Arthur strolled casually toward one of the wide staircases, where he had finally spotted his soon-to-be partner and the woman who would become...

 

_“I'd like you to meet my sister, Diana.”_

_“Nice to meet you.”_

_“Pleasure's mine.”_

_“Diana's a chief researcher in the continued development of dream science. I'd be lost without her.”_

_“My brother flatters me. I'm looking forward to seeing what you can do.”_

 

The conversation echoed in Arthur's memory as he ascended the steps. He remembered everything about that meeting; the way her teal dress brought out the green in her eyes. The way her skin seemed to radiate a warm honey-colored glow amidst the chandeliers and candlelight.

 

_This is the wrong song. A waltz was playing._

 

As if on cue, the music shifted and a swishing Russian waltz filled the room. The point man's head snapped around and his eyes narrowed at the string ensemble, who performed on the bandstand, glaring at him from the base of the shining Christmas tree.

 

_This is bad._

 

It had been his smile, she decided. And his eyes; those coffee brown eyes that felt deeper than anything she had ever seen before. At first, she had wondered if it was the champagne, though she had only had one glass. But every meeting since then was the same – he always managed to give her butterflies.

 

_You're doing it again. This nostalgia gets you nowhere._

 

Diana scanned the room, searching for any sign of her brother among the crowd. A cluster of men and women stood blocking the path and, despite her best efforts to move freely behind them, her shoulder connected with one of the shades.

“Easy, mate.” The projection exclaimed in surprise.

“So sorry. Pardon me.” Diana didn't look up as she tried to forge ahead.

“Diana!” The familiar voice startled her, causing her to turn and face the man she had collided with.

“Richard!” Her eyes widened nervously as she stared into the face of Dom's projection of Richard Eames.

“What _have_ you done to your hair?” His brow furrowed as his expression changed from one of good-natured mocking to that of genuine concern “Everything alright, Love? You look upset.”

 

“I, um,” Diana shook her head, regaining her composure and forcing a smile. “I'm fine. I'm looking for Dom – have you seen him?”

 

“I'm afraid I haven't had that pleasure, yet.” Eames tilted his head slightly, gray eyes narrowing skeptically. “Aren't you meant to introduce us later? Something about a test.”

 

“Right.” Diana breathed a sigh of inspiration as a flood of memories about the business details of the evening came rushing to her. “There's a room off the East wing. I think it used to be a study. We'll meet there at ten O'clock. I'll introduce you then.”

 

Eames was about to respond when a tremor shook the floor. The music floating through the air changed and a Russian waltz began to play. Richard looked up from his champagne, which rippled from the force of the miniscule quake, and stared at Diana, his eyes menacing and his shoulders tense, like a dog ready to spring at an intruder.

 

Diana froze as more eyes turned upon her. Backing away slowly, she tried not to garner more attention for herself. The beat of the waltz thrummed in her ears and her heart kept time in her chest as she turned, ignoring the eyes and making her way steadily, casually toward the staircase.

 

“What did you do?” Diana demanded as she passed Arthur, who stood waiting at the top of the steps, looking nervous.

 

“I don't know, I – one second I think about a waltz and then-”

 

“That was you?” Diana's voice shook as she led the way from the stairs toward the East side of the building.

 

“How is that possible? This is Dom's dream.” Arthur followed, resisting the urge to run and draw more attention to themselves. “Where are you going?”

 

“That night – the night you and Eames were brought on – you were given a test, remember?”

 

“You think Dom's in the study?”

 

“Do you have another idea?”

 

Arthur didn't answer. Diana stopped, realizing he no longer followed her. Instead, he stood in the intersection where their hall met another narrow hallway, lit by dim lights and candles. She backtracked, glancing down the hall to see what had caught his attention.

 

Snow drifted in large flakes outside a centuries-old window, the candles nearest it flickering in the draft. In front of the window, two figures stood that were immediately recognizable and yet so foreign to her, Diana had the sudden but distinct feeling she was staring through Alice's looking glass. They stood there, watching themselves, unable to hear the conversation but not needing to. They both remembered it, at least well enough.

 

_“Have you ever been to Prague at Christmas before?”_

_“First time.”_

_“Be sure to see the city before you go. The lights are breathtaking.”_

_“I'll do that. Are you cold?”  
“It's chilly by the window.”_

_“Take my jacket.”_

_“No, thanks. I'm fine, really. We'd better find Dom, anyway. You were telling me about architectural paradoxes to define borders in the dream space...”_

 

She had played hard to get. She had always played hard to get, except it wasn't a game, and Arthur had worked damn hard. He watched the exchange, vaguely aware of the woman standing near his shoulder, wearing the same dress as the specter in front of him.

 

Diana swallowed hard, her invisible armor clenching about her, becoming an iron maiden that choked her breath and burrowed into her heart, rending her ventricles as the scene unfolded in front of them. She had loved him. She had known it even then. But the months apart held her hostage, and she couldn't stand watching any longer.

 

“We need to go.” She hooked her hand around Arthur's elbow, shaking him from the half daze in which he stood and walking briskly down the hall, away from the mirrored apparitions and toward a massive wooden door. Diana pushed on the door, trying to open it. It creaked and groaned. The metal plate along the edge of the door was cool to the touch, the ornate engravings worn yet raised enough to leave indentations on her palm.

 

“Diana...” Arthur's voice was ominous. Diana looked up, following his gaze back down the hall, where their shades stood, staring angrily at them. Arthur leaned his shoulder against the door, throwing his whole weight into helping push. Diana planted the heels of her palms against the aged door, pushing desperately as the shades moved closer, everything about them threatening.

 

The door creaked and swung open, depositing the pair onto the floor of a blindingly bright room.

 

Diana lay on the floor, her fingertips buried in the soft pile of the area rug. She caught her breath as her eyes adjusted to the light.

 

Arthur blinked hard, rising to his knees and looking around. The spots in his vision began to fade and the scene before him slowly focused.

 

Pale blue shadows stretched themselves across the living room floor, as outside the tall grasses swayed and bent in the cold gray light of early morning. The tree outside the window behind him, almost out of sight around the edge of the house, was nearly bare. A fine lace of frost clung to the porch, crawling up the bottom edges of the windows surrounding the room. It was autumn.

 

“We're home.” He could hardly contain his wonderment and confusion.

 


	7. Inextricable

Ariadne paced the room tensely, fingers entwined and brow furrowed in thought. She glanced at the clock Diana had given her, which sat on the glass coffee table. Out the Eastern windows, over the horizon, the sky was beginning to turn gray. Under any other circumstances, she might have passed a relaxing night in the quiet solitude of the house.

 

Morpheus snored contentedly at Arthur's feet, She stared at them. In the light of morning, alone in the house, Ariadne saw the three of them differently. Laying there, unconscious on the furniture, hooked up to the machine, they looked less like visionaries and more like flies, trapped an expired in an abandoned web. She felt sorry for them, she decided; Cobb and Diana and Arthur.

 

 _This is what it does to you_. She thought. _Binds you together, inextricably, forever._

 

What must it be like to know and love someone whose subconscious you've explored like uncharted caves? Ariadne only had a vague idea.

 

A crow cried somewhere outside, and Ariadne resumed her pacing, taking inventory of the books on the shelves, which stood atop a tall matching cupboard, a row of shallow drawers separating the shelves from the doors. The drawers were formal, with black pulls matching those on the cupboard on which they sat. Ariadne pulled one open, finding nothing of any great interest. She closed it gently, pulling open the next one out of the same idle curiosity. She gazed at the contents, intrigued and heartbroken; an entire lifetime packed neatly away in a 24x13x8” drawer. Ariadne lifted the stacks of photographs and bundle of postcards, letters and greeting cards carefully from their tidy nest, thumbing through the photos as she settled into the remaining empty chair.

 

Miles Cobb stood in a hospital room, holding a baby. A young boy of 8, maybe 10 years old, stood next to him, smiling widely. Cobb had looked like his father, even at that age.

 

First birthdays gave way to Halloween costumes. Family vacations to holidays. First days of school to graduations and college snapshots. It was obvious in the photos that despite their age gap the siblings had been close. From the early years of young Dom reading stories to a sleepy toddler in pigtails, to the pride and love evident on his face as he stood with arm wrapped around the shoulders of a young woman in cap and gown, and the admiration and affection with which she looked at him as she sat with another bridesmaid, watching him give a speech at his wedding.

 

She and Mal must have been close, too, Ariadne realized as she continued to peruse the photos. She could hardly imagine Diana disapproving of anyone her brother loved. The two ladies smiled, sitting next to each other on some kind of boat. In one photo, they laughed together while a very pregnant Mal cut a baby shower cake and Diana dished slices onto plates.

 

 _A happy life_ , Ariadne thought. It was strange to her, looking at the photos, to see what seemingly normal beginnings the mavericks of dream space had had. She turned her attention to the bundle of letters, wrapped tightly together, a stack of photographs shoved between the papers.

 

 _Arthur_.

 

The pictures spun a tale of moments in glances. Echoes of time that seemed almost audible. Dancing, embraces, picnics and weekend getaways; a tenderness in both of them Ariadne had never seen. She picked up a postcard. On it, a large Christmas tree stood illuminated in front of an imposing castle. Words Ariadne didn't understand were scrawled in white script across the top, and her best estimation was that they translated into something along the lines of “Merry Christmas.” She flipped the card over.

 

_“Don't believe the picture. There are no lights in Prague without you._

_Heard 'I'll be Home for Christmas'. Fitting._

_Will write soon. Love you – A.”_

 

Ariadne swallowed the lump rising in her throat and shuffled through the letters and postcards.

 

_“April in Paris – just like the song, but not so romantic._

_Job went sideways - laying low for a while._

_Don't answer doors to strange men._

_I'm sorry. I miss you. Come home when I can. - A”_

 

Stockholm. Zurich. Milan. Shanghai. Sometimes a few words scrawled on a postcard, sometimes pages-long letters that read like last confessions. Ariadne looked back at the sleepers.

 

 _“She has her reasons.”_ Arthur had said.

 

 _She certainly has._ Ariadne found herself thinking. She imagined Diana losing the three people she loved most in the span of... how long? 6 months? A year, maybe? No wonder she had wrapped them all up and locked them away. Who wouldn't want to forget?

 

But something betrayed her desire to forget, and Ariadne felt it. She rifled through the letters again, confirming her suspicions.

 

They were all opened.

 

Every letter. Every greeting card. They had all been opened. All read, she suspected, at least once. Why, if she wanted to forget so much, didn't she just tear them up? Throw them away? Burn them?

 

 _Because she couldn't._ Ariadne answered her own half-formed question. They were a part of her, no matter how much it hurt; how much she wished she could lock it all away and forget everything.

 

The crow outside cried again. In the small hours of the almost-morning, the house stood still and silent. Ariadne could hear the gentle breaths of her charges, see the subtle rise and fall of their chests. Asleep, they almost looked peaceful. Their faces bore no visible signs of the private hells they each inhabited, because of a shared passion like an addiction.

 

_Inextricable._

 


	8. Anywhere But Here.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fans of the Arthur/ Diana ship may not like this chapter, but PLEASE keep reading the forthcoming chapters.

“Damn it!” Diana shouted, grabbing a throw pillow from the couch and throwing it angrily across the room. “Damn it, Dominic! You manipulative bastard!”

 

“Easy, Di, calm down.” Arthur spoke calmly.

 

“That son of a bitch.” Diana cursed, pacing the floor like a trapped animal.

 

“Di, Di,” Arthur repeated soothingly, holding her shoulders, forcing her to stand still. “Calm down, it's okay.”

 

“It's not – Don't you get it, Arthur!?” Diana rubbed her face in her hands, exhaustion and frustration getting the better of her as her temper rose. “This isn't Dom's memory. He couldn't have created this home – he's never been here.”

 

“But that means -”

 

“It means that son of a bitch used Prague to distract us and lure us back into one of our subconsciouses.”

 

“What, you mean this isn't his dream? How is that possible?” Arthur looked around. “Whose dream are we in?”

 

“Oh, Arthur...” Diana shook her head, her voice heavy with frustration and discouragement. “It goes so far beyond your dream or my dream. Dream sharing – real dream sharing – unfettered by the compounds is so much more complicated. You can move between subconsciouses.”

 

“Why didn't you tell me?”

 

“I didn't know Dom could do this! I... I told him my theories about lucid dreaming and dream sharing without the compounds, he never seemed interested.” Diana sank into an open chair, her elbows on her thighs and head in her hands.

 

“So how do we find Cobb?” Arthur stood in the middle of the living room, tuxedo gone, replaced once more by his plaid shirt, the cuffs rolled crisply midway up his forearms.

 

Diana shook her head, staring down at the black trousers that replaced the teal evening dress she had been wearing.

 

“I don't know.” Her voice was almost inaudible, her eyes closed, fighting back tears. “I don't know.”

 

Arthur looked around the room. The wind blew outside, making quiet shushing noises in the grass. His deep eyes scanned the room, seeing it all for the first time, though he knew every inch of it by heart. His gaze settled on the mantle and his brow furrowed, his head cocking slightly. He walked toward the shelf slowly, counting the pictures on display. They were all there. The engagement photo standing prominently in the center, flanked by a picture of Diana and Arthur picnicking at the beach, and another of Arthur asleep on the couch, a very young and tiny Morpheus stretched out on top of his stomach, head resting on Arthur's chest.

 

He turned on his heel, disappearing briskly into the kitchen before returning, taking the stairs two at a time up to the loft and toward the master bedroom. Diana looked up.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“I know what day this is.” Arthur stopped halfway up the stairs, looking over the railing at the woman. “This is the day I left.”

 

“Where are you going?” Diana stood, following him into the loft at the top of the stairs.

 

“I want to find out whose dream this is.” Arthur nodded toward the bedroom.

“What?” Diana looked down the empty hall, where the bedroom door stood ajar.

 

“If it's my memory, my projection of you will be asleep in there.” Arthur turned to head down the hall. Diana caught his elbow with her hand, her fingers wrinkling his soft plaid shirt.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Diana's voice was urgent, thin traces of hot steel lacing through her words.

 

“Don't you want to know?” Arthur stopped, squaring his shoulders to her, speaking quietly.

 

“What does it matter?” she retorted sharply. “We both know what happened.”

 

Arthur hung his head slightly. “You don't know.” He replied gently.

 

“You left, Arthur.” Diana spat, her eyes flashing.

 

“I did it for you-” Arthur raised his voice in defense, the truth of Diana's accusation piercing him like a bullet to the chest. “to help _your_ brother.”

 

“You did it for yourself.” Diana dismissed his defense bitterly. “You broke your promise -”

 

“A promise you never should have asked me to make!” Arthur snapped, surprising himself. He couldn't remember the last time he and Diana had yelled at each other, though he knew he didn't want a reprise. The point man took a breath, trying to calm himself.

 

“You know what it's like.” The pitch of his voice raised as he smirked, his expression begging for understanding. Diana had shared as many dreams as Arthur – she _had_ to understand. “How could you ever expect to stop, just like that?”

 

Diana shook her head, folding her arms across her chest, trying to bring herself down to a civil pitch.

 

“I did.” She said simply. Arthur scoffed.

 

“Oh, yeah, you did.” The sarcasm in his voice, though understated, was thick. Diana's eyes narrowed.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“It's just that you and Sheridan seem to have continued 'research'.” He spat.

 

“Don't you dare go there, Arthur!” Diana rolled her eyes, the anger in her voice growing. “What are you, a child!? I've been doing _research –_ monitoring test subjects and revising theories - not banging around in strangers' subconsciouses-”

 

“Did you sleep with him?” Arthur demanded blankly. Diana stared.

 

“What!?”

 

“Did you sleep with him?” He repeated, his voice hardened.

 

“How could you even -”

 

“Just tell me.”

 

“So what if I did!?” Diana burst, her voice shaking. “You've got no right to ask!”

 

She pivoted, retracing her steps quickly back down the stairs.

 

“No right?” Arthur followed her. “Diana, I'm your fiance -”

 

“Were!” She stopped short, turning and glaring at him. “You _were_ my fiance! Until you walked out and apparently found someone else, you were kind enough to introduce me to!”

 

“Wh – Ariadne!?” Arthur sounded shocked by the implication.

 

“Don't play dumb, Arthur.” Diana goaded. “I'm not the irrational one here.”

 

“Just let me explain something -” Arthur held up his hand as though trying to call a time out, but Diana ignored him.

 

“You kissed her!” She shouted.

 

“Diana!” Arthur tried to get her attention, but in vain.

 

“I am done listening to explanations. I don't want to hear them.” Diana's tone was venomous as her eyes burned like hot irons into Arthur. “When we wake up, I want you gone. No more letters. No more postcards. If you're going to leave, Arthur, at least commit to it.”

 

Arthur stood on the steps, staring as she reached the main floor and disappeared under the loft, toward the front of the house. The shock set in and he was only dully aware as his body ascended the staircase, treading lightly down the hallway, to where the bedroom door stood quietly, like Schrodinger’s box.

 

Arthur put his hand to the door, pausing in thought. Did it matter?

 

Slowly, he pressed the cool white paneling. The door swung softly on its hinges and Arthur raised his eyes, and his heart dropped into his stomach. The unmade bed lay empty, ambient light filtering through the North-facing window. Arthur crossed the room, sitting at the foot of the bed. He fingered the black and silver gray bedspread lightly, his shoulders slumped. He bowed his head, supporting his forehead with the heels of his palms as he stared at his shoes, shining black against the crisp carpeting.

 

“I regretted this day.” He said aloud to himself. “For eighteen months, I regretted it. I came up here and packed some clothes... I kept hoping you would wake up. Tell me to come back to bed. I would have... probably. Maybe you're right, and I did it for me. But it was a mistake. I wanted to tell you... I tried telling you, in my letters... I could never get it out. Kept telling myself it would be easier to explain in person.”

He turned, staring at the empty pillows and turned down sheets as though speaking to the person he thought should have been there.

 

“But I can't seem to do that, either.”

 

He lay down, stretched out on what had once been his side of the bed. The pillow cushioned his head. His body felt heavy. Rolling onto his side, he stared out the window. For the first time in recent memory, he felt truly alone.

 

Diana sat on the cold kitchen tile, her back against the cupboard. Tears streamed down her face and her shoulders shuddered. A folded piece of paper lay next to her, fallen from the center island. It had taken her the morning to find it the first time, when she accidentally stepped on it in her frantic search for Arthur. She didn't read it. She didn't have to. She remembered what it said clearer than she remembered anything else in her life.

 

_“With Dom. I'm sorry._

_My jacket's in the closet – stay warm._

_I'll come back._

_I love you. - A”_

 

She couldn't do it again. She couldn't. She had done it once, wasn't that enough? What was she supposed to have said? Mal was dead. Dom was gone. Arthur...

 

“Dom, you son of a bitch.” She muttered. She pulled her knees tight to her chest, resting her head on them as her body gave way to great, shuddering sobs.

 

 _Anywhere but here._ She thought. _Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here. Anywhere but here._

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. The Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes reference to the editing done in chapter 4. For it to make total sense, you may need to read chapter four again.

“Auntie Di! Auntie Di!”

 

Diana heard the child's voice before she opened her eyes.

 

“James, be quiet!” A little girl's voice cried, as loudly as the voice she was scolding. “Auntie Di's sleeping.”

 

“That's enough, you two.”

 

Diana stifled a smile, keeping her eyes closed as Dom's voice calmly and preemptively ended the quarrel.

 

“You go back outside and play.”

 

The sound of vague protests joined the earsplitting thud unique only to the disproportionately heavy steps of young children. Diana cracked open an eyelid, to see Dom standing in front of her in his living room, smiling. Diana grinned.

 

“You always could sleep anywhere.” He shook his head. “Coffee?”

 

“That'd be great.” She stretched her arms above her head, arching her back. Her muscles were stiff, her left side cold from the bay window, against which she had slept, seated on the window seat. She squinted, looking out the window, trying to remember the last vestiges of the dream she had had. They clung to her mind like fine wisps of spider silk; strong, but barely visible.

 

“Something on your mind?”

 

Diana looked across the room to where her brother stood behind the kitchen counter, measuring coffee beans into a small silver grinder. She shook her head, frowning.

 

“Just... I don't know... bad dream, I guess.” She returned to looking out the window, a feeling of unease forming, twisting inside her.

 

Dom switched the grinder on. The buzz of the machine seemed deafening in the quiet room. Outside, the children played a game of chase.

 

“I'm glad you decided to stay the week while Arthur clears out his things.”

 

A knot twisted suddenly, painfully inside Diana.

 

_Arthur._

 

“I mean,” Dom continued as he emptied the grounds into the coffee maker, flipping it on and listening to the low gurgling and slow drip of the machine. “I owe Arthur a lot – my life, in a lot of ways. But you know... blood and all that. By the way, I'm sorry about the whole -”

 

He trailed off, gesturing to his left arm. Diana cocked her head, confused for only a moment before becoming aware of the stiff muscles and dull ache in her left bicep. She could feel the bandages under her sleeve.

 

“Oh...” Diana shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, well... you know...”

 

She frowned, her brow furrowed, trying desperately to piece together the events in her memory; to sort the fact from the fantasy.

 

“You still foggy?” Dom looked over the counter and across the room, his face worried.

 

“I-” Diana started to speak, then fell silent. “It's like I just don't...”

 

“You were probably in shock when you went under.” Dom crossed the room, pulling a chair up next to the window seat. “Christ, Diana, you know better – The damage you could have done to yourself – and to me.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Diana smirked at the welt, still an angry purple, fading to green at the edges. “I didn't have much choice, considering.”

 

Dom lips parted in a half smile and he nodded, turning his head to look out the glass doors into the garden, where James and Phillipa had finished their game of chase and started up an elaborate round of make believe that involved the precise placement of twigs and rocks. His blue eyes grew distant as he watched them.

 

“Thank you.” He said at length. “I know... it can't have been easy.”

 

Diana nodded, swallowing hard. Resting her left temple on the window, she let her thoughts wander as she watched the children play make believe out of the corner of her eye.

 

* * *

 

Arthur opened his eyes. His muscles ached. His body screamed in exhaustion. He looked around the room. The once warm space seemed cold and empty as he lay alone in bed. If he held his breath, he could hear the steady _tick, tick, tick_ of the grandfather clock in the open loft outside the room. He contemplated moving; getting up, doing something – _anything –_ to try and get his mind off of...

 

_What?_

 

Slowly, Arthur rose, setting his bare feet on the floor and reaching for his trousers. Dressing took effort. Everything seemed slow and clumsy, as if moving underwater. He pulled on a white t-shirt, thinking briefly about the button-up over shirt, but ultimately intimidated at the prospect of manipulating the acrylic circles through the holes.

 

Without conviction, he descended the staircase to the main floor of the house, padding in his bare feet over the wood floors into the kitchen. In front of him, staring, gaping at him from across the room, was the hole in the tiled back-splash where Cobb's bullet had bitten into the wall, sending glass and bits of grout flying. The remains of the glass wine stems still littered the floor. Arthur winced as he stepped over it. The abandoned gun lay unloaded in the middle of the kitchen, the clip near the center island.

 

The point man stood, his head swimming, his thoughts moving like grains of sand in a rough current. Arthur backtracked in his mind, trying to retrace the steps that had brought him here; to this place, in this moment.

 

_We were at home. Or were we? Prague – no, Prague was a dream. We argued – when? Before we went under? Dom had a gun. That was a dream. No, wait, that was real. And this is -_

 

He thought about the loaded die in his pocket, reaching for it, he balanced it between his thumb and forefinger, thinking over what Diana had said. The totem protected you from other people's dreams, but what about his? If it was possible to move between subconsciouses, what impact did that have on the use of the totem? Pocketing the red die again, he instead looked around, searching for something out of place – something to answer the only clear thought in his spinning mind.

 

A scratching in the living room startled him. He exited the kitchen slowly, more carefully than he had entered, and crossed the short hall into the living room, where Morpheus stood on the porch, scratching at the glass door and whimpering.

 

“Morpheus,” Arthur said as he opened the door. The dog trotted in, wagging his tail and turning upon entry to receive the praise and ear scratches he felt entitled to. “What were you doing out there?”

 

Arthur looked out the door. Toward the front of the house, and spreading outward to the East and West, groves of walnuts, cedars and pines interrupted the rolling grasslands. South, surrounding the back of the house and stretching out for miles, brown wild grass swayed in the cool breeze. In the hollows, where the ground was lower and the ground coolest, a fine mist still clung close to the earth. A chill, unrelated to the weather, caused Arthur to tingle, and he recognized the sensation that something was terribly wrong; it was the same feeling he had had whenever Mal's shade showed up on a job.

 

“Diana?” Arthur looked around the empty porch, then out to the quiet fields. “Diana!”

* * *

 

Diana started up from the book she was reading, looking around quickly.  
  
“What is it, Auntie Di?” James asked, looking up at her with the Cobb men's blue eyes from his spot cuddled tight against her side.  
  
“Nothing, Baby.” Diana responded soothingly. “I just thought I heard something.”  
  
She stared at the pages, lost in her own private thoughts, trying to get them to stand still long enough to be understood, until the little boy poked her ribs.  
  
“Auntie Di,” He said in the screaming whisper only small children can manage. “The story.”  
  
She looked down at the child and smiled. “Right. Where was I?”


	10. Find Your Footing

 

“Ready to go?” Phillipa poked her head around the edge of the guest room door.

 

Diana looked up. “Ready when you are.” She said, shoving a light sweater into the tote bag she had found in the closet. Phillipa grinned and disappeared, her footsteps headed toward the kitchen. Diana shouldered the bag, following her niece to where Dom squatted in the kitchen, trying to slather sunscreen on a wriggling James' face.

 

“Dooooon't” James whined. “I don't want it! It's not hot outside!”

 

“I know it's not hot,” Dom tried to sound calm as he stealthily swiped the sunscreen on the child's forehead. “But it's sunny, and when you're outside in the sun all day, you need sunscreen.”

 

“Auntie Diiiiiiii!” James looked plaintively to Diana, standing with shoulders slumped and eyes wide. Diana chuckled.

 

“Don't look at me, Little Man.” She shrugged. James pouted, relenting to his father and whimpering, making faces as Dom smeared the last of the white blob on his hand onto James' cheeks.

 

“Alright. Ready to go.” Dom stood, snapping the sunscreen bottled closed with an air of finality and tossing it into the packed picnic basket on the counter. Picking up the basket, he ushered the kids toward the door, taking Phillipa's hand in his as Diana lagged behind with James, who temporarily decided he was a kangaroo, entering the yard in great bounces.

 

.

* * *

 

. 

Cool, salty winds blew in from the ocean as the four trudged over the beach, the children running ahead, serpentining back and forth, always just out of reach of the waves.

 

“So what will you do now?” Dom asked, staring ahead of them, keeping an eye on the children.

 

“I guess I don't know.” Diana shrugged, crossed her hands across her chest, rubbing her arms. Her left arm ached more than usual as the cold wind through her long-sleeve t-shirt made her bicep tense.

 

“Well, you're welcome to stay out here, if you want.” He offered. “You can continue research-”

 

“No.” She shook her head, cutting him off. “No, I'm done with that.” She stared down the beach, past the children, toward the horizon. “It's a drug, Dom. We can pretend it's not – pretend we're making it “safer” or whatever... altered compounds, totems... but it'll never be safe. We both know that.”

 

Dom nodded. “I suppose you're right.” He glanced over to her, smiling. “That's why I'm giving it up, too.”

 

“Yeah?” Diana met his eyes, a half-smile lifting her features.

 

“Yeah, well... there's got to be some need for an architect around here.” He shrugged. “Phillipa, wait for us! Don't run so far ahead!”

 

“That's great.” Diana smiled. Dom nodded.

 

“A chance at a new life.” He said absentmindedly.

 

“It is.” Diana agreed quietly. Her thoughts trailed off, following the sets of small footprints in their wandering journey over the sand to where Phillipa and James stood, running back and forth with the waves, screaming with delight as the spray lunged for their heels, nearly reaching them. She watched them wistfully, a bittersweet fondness for them weighing on her. She chewed her lower lip, choosing her words carefully before opening her mouth to speak.

 

“Dom...” She began slowly. “How old are James and Phillipa?”

 

“What?” He seemed affronted that his sister would ask such a question.

 

Diana stopped, turning in the sand and facing her brother. The wind gusted over the ocean, breaking against Dom's back as he halted.

 

“How old were James and Phillipa when Mal died?” Diana rephrased the question.

 

“Four and six.” Dom replied, without hesitation, his eyebrows knit in an expression Diana recognized well; the confusion that often led to frustration and anger. She braced herself before continuing.

 

“And...now?” She raised her eyebrows, nodding in the direction of the playing children. Dom was silent as he watched them, his jaw locking as he grit his teeth.

 

“You were gone for two years.” Diana said gently. “How old does James look?”

 

Dom watched the playing children, noting his son's stature, his stiff-legged run, the lingering toddler proportions in a boy of about four years old.

 

“What are you doing?” Dom hissed dangerously, his blue eyes like icy daggers.

 

The clouds began rolling in quickly from off the the coast, Diana shook her head.

 

“Nothing, Dom. I'm not doing anything.” She said kindly. She glanced down, swallowing before she looked up again. “You ever notice how, when you're dreaming, you can't feel your feet?”

 

Dom looked puzzled and uncomfortable, as though every fiber in his being wanted to ignore her, but couldn't help but to listen.

 

“Or how, if you really focus, you can feel something against your back, even if you're standing in the middle of a room?” Diana continued, watching her brother intensely.

 

The wind blew sharply, whistling past the siblings as the sky darkened. Dom squared his shoulders uncomfortably, trying to shake the feeling of cushions against his back. He looked down, scuffing his feet in the sand, waiting to feel the familiar resistance as he dug his heels into it, trying to feel the discomfort of the grains working their way into the fabric of his socks. He watched. He saw it happening. He thought he almost felt it, but only dimly; the way reading the lice prevention pamphlets Phillipa's school sent her home with each year made his head itch.

 

“What is this?” The children's laughter seemed to grow distant and hollow as the low clouds roiled overhead, rumbling angrily.

 

“I know you don't want to see it.” Diana kept eye contact with her brother, trying to steady herself, though his glare made her incredibly nervous. “You put me through hell to find you... But try, Dom. Focus.”

 

Dom's features slowly twisted from anger to something resembling fear.

 

“What's up there?” He asked simply. “What's up there that's better than what I've got here?”

 

Diana looked at him pityingly. “Your life.”

 

“Some life.” Dom spat bitterly. “What, am I going to wake up on a plane? In a warehouse somewhere wishing I'd never listened to you?”

 

“No.” Diana shook her head. “No, Dom. Never again. You're at my house, on my couch. A client fixed your charges. When you wake up, I'll be there. With Arthur and Ariadne.”

 

“If I kill myself?” Dom suggested darkly. “Like Mal?”  
  


Diana's heart broke. “No, Dom. What happened to Mal...We jumped in head first – all of us, without ever really thinking. We never considered -”

 

“Then how?”

 

“Just...find your footing.” Diana offered a small smile of encouragement to her older brother, who stood on the sand, the world closing in around him, fading into the haze of clouds and wind. “And open your eyes.”

 

* * *

 


	11. Chapter 11

Ariadne stood at the glass door in the living room, watching as Morpheus sniffed around outside. She checked her watch. It was almost time to check vitals on the trio. She whistled to the dog, who looked up from a particularly interesting clump of grass and trotted happily toward the house.

 

“Good boy.” Ariadne scratched the dog between the ears as she shut the door. A sudden movement caught her eye, and she looked up. Dom shifted in his sleep, his feet grinding against the floor.

“Cobb?” Ariadne crossed the room, grabbing the First Aid kit that lay on the coffee table. She knelt beside the couch, putting her fingertips on the inside of the man's wrist, checking his pulse. His arm tensed with life. Ariadne raised her head, brown eyes and round face met with Dom's blurred gaze.

 

“Ariadne?” Dom blinked, looked around, and tried to sit up.

 

“Woah, easy.” Ariadne stood, supporting Dom's shoulders as he rocked forward.

 

“My head hurts.” He confided, reaching up to gingerly assess the damage to his forehead with his fingertips.

 

“I'll get some ice.” Ariadne offered. She started to go, then stopped. “You...you're not gonna shoot anyone again...are you?”

 

 

.

* * *

 

 

Arthur plodded along the narrow path that followed the steady line of trees. The scent of pine rose from the earth as the yellowed needles clung to the soles of his shoes. To the South, gray clouds gathered, a hazy veil stretching from the sky to the ground telling him that somewhere it was raining heavily. To the West, and directly ahead of him, the cloud cover broke, the lavender pink glow of the after-rain sun peeking through, throwing golden light on the towering trees and casting long shadows against the earth. Ahead of Arthur, Morpheus trotted happily, his path wandering in and out of the grove of trees, sniffing at the damp grass, treeing squirrels with merry barking, and returning to his master. The dog seemed blithely unaware of the misery with which Arthur followed along on the walk.

 

_Why was he here?_

 

The breeze blew against the trees, the last of the nice weather whispering a farewell before the cold damp and snow of winter. Arthur hunched his shoulders, trying to bring the collar of his jacket up enough to keep the cold off the back of his neck. His stomach churned, his thoughts still racing at an impossible rate. Things had always been black and white to Arthur. Even in dream space, where paradoxes and shades of gray reigned supreme, he had found a way to neatly categorize it all in a manner that made sense.

 

Arthur shoved his hands into his pockets, his thumb and forefinger turning the red die over slowly, contemplating what it must mean when the safeguard becomes meaningless. For the thousandth time since he opened his eyes, he tried to put events in order; sifting through his memories, filtering out the ones that were obviously dreams from those he couldn't quite make sense of. His thoughts kept getting in the way; things he knew, but didn't know quite _why_ he knew.

 

He was supposed to be moving out. Diana had given him a week to go through the house. Why did he know that? Tried as he might, he couldn't access any recollection of the conversation that had led him to this point. But it had taken place. It _had to have taken place._

 

Didn't it?

 

Morpheus stopped abruptly, head raised and ears perked, his tale high but still, his whole body tense. Arthur stopped walking and watched the dog, who stood, sniffing the air for a tense moment before barking loudly and running full speed up and over the low hill in front of them, disappearing into the geography.

 

“Morpheus!” Arthur shouted after him. “Morpheus! Come!”

 

Out of sight, he could hear the dog's barking growing fainter. Arthur grit his teeth in annoyance, veering away from the narrow, trampled foot path and following the dog into the grasses and up the hill.

 

The hill was low and rolling and nothing special amidst the countless others of its ilk in the countryside. Arthur scaled it with ease, taking in the scenery around him. Miles upon endless miles of rolling hills and wild grasses, peppered with clusters of trees.

 

 _“The edge of the world.”_ Diana had said, the first time she brought Arthur to visit. Standing at the top of the hill, he agreed, though now he saw no appeal in the idea. He felt lost. Lost in the ocean of grassland and trees. Lost somewhere between sleep and awake, treading thin footpaths on the edge of the world.

 

“The edge of the world.” He repeated to himself. Morpheus barked, and Arthur's eyes scanned the fields. He caught sight of the dog, bounding down a neighboring hill, back toward the row of trees that stretched Westward away from the house. Arthur set out, following him farther West, toward the partially shrouded sunset.

 

From the top of the second hill, Arthur was able to get a better idea of the path the dog had taken him on. The string of woods took a Northerly turn some ways back, meandering around the hills. The trek over the hills was a more direct route to the Western-most edge of the tree-line. The grasses were shorter and matted on the lee side of the hill, where rain water and wandering wildlife kept the blades of grass bent and trampled. As he descended, he saw in the distance Morpheus, bounding excitedly for the pines. He squinted. Along the edge of the woods, he could make out a figure, moving slowly, and with a purpose. Morpheus ran to greet it, tail wagging. Arthur watched as the figure bent, rubbing the dog around the neck and head in familiar greeting.

 

Almost without realizing, Arthur's legs broke into a run, balancing his weight gracefully down the side of the hill and across the open space back to the narrow footpath at the base of the woods. His heart thudded in his chest, not from the exertion of the jog, but at the prospect of the sight that moved toward him. The sunset at her back, Diana walked toward him, silhouetted against beams of gold and coral, Morpheus trotting happily ahead of her.

 

She wore a navy blue pea coat and knee-high, flat heeled boots. As she drew closer, he could see her smile at him with a mix of fondness and uncertainty about what she might find when she greeted him. He met her halfway and they stopped, staring at each other, gazing into each other's eyes, seeking answers to very different questions they both suspected would lead them to the same place.

 

“Hi.”


	12. The Kiss

Arthur sat on the edge of the over-sized Adirondack, gazing out over the fields. The world was damp with a heavy dew that would before long be glistening frost. His breath raised before him in thin wisps of vapor that dissipated as they touched the barely-warm rays of thin sunlight stretching over the Eastern horizon. The last of the fair weather was packing her bags, he thought. He wondered if she would be the only one.

 

The door opened and closed behind him, and footsteps crossed the porch. Someone draped a thick blanket over his shoulders, and he looked up, surprised to see Diana.

 

“I thought you'd be with Dom.” He said as she sat down on the edge of the other Adirondack, joining him in his survey of the land. He noticed she wore the charcoal gray wool jacket he had left in the house over a year ago.

 

“Ariadne's filling him in. Helping him sort out the details of what happened between the Fischer job and here.” She didn't look at him. Instead, her eyes stared straight ahead.

 

“You know, you probably saved his life.”

 

Diana shrugged. “I screwed up. It was sloppy. The whole thing could have gone pear-shaped and we all would have been lost.” She looked down at her hands. They looked small, shrouded in the cuffs of Arthur's jacket. “No, things get more complicated without the compounds... a safer wake-up, but everything else...” She shook her head. “It was sloppy.” She repeated the phrase with a resigned finality, delivering a final verdict.

 

Arthur shrugged the blanket around himself, glancing over to the woman sitting next to him.

 

“You kept the jacket.” He noted. Diana offered a subdued chuckle.

 

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah, I kept it. Thought about burning it for a while, but...” She trailed off, staring at the silvery gray buttons on the cuffs.

 

The pair sat in silence on the porch for what seemed a small eternity.

 

“I never slept with Sheridan.” Diana confessed at length, her voice distant and simple.

 

“I know.” Arthur looked down, embarrassed and ashamed of the accusation he had made. She had been right, he had no right to ask. Still, he felt his torso warm, filled with something akin to relief.

 

“But you did kiss her.”

 

It was an observation only, devoid of all traces of accusation or anger. Arthur bobbed his head slowly.

 

“In the dream on the Fischer job.” He confessed simply.

 

There was a beat in the conversation.

 

“You know most people would say it was just a dream.” Diana mused, her voice hinting at envy of those people for whom dreams were only inconsequential visions. Arthur didn't respond.

 

“I like her.” She offered. “She seems nice. Pretty... She must be smart, too, if Dom hired her-”

 

“That-” Arthur interjected. “That wasn't why I -”

 

“It really doesn't matter, Arthur.” Diana shook her head, smiling resignedly, her eyes distant.

 

Arthur shrugged the blanket from around his shoulders and rose from the chair, treading the cold boards of the porch toward the house. He stopped short, turning. Diana's back face him. He could see her shoulders and the back of her head from his vantage point behind the Adirondack.

 

“I kissed her so I would stop seeing you.” He confessed, his voice raw, shaking slightly from either emotion or cold. Or both. “The Fischer job put our lives at risk. One misstep and we'd end up in limbo for decades, and none of us knew it until it was too late.”

 

Arthur turned slightly, squaring his shoulders to her as he spoke, pushing aside the awkwardness and fear that kept him from speaking.

 

“Maybe you're right and I left for me, but I have spent every day of the last year and a half just wanting to come home to you and feeling like I couldn't, because if Dom didn't come back with me, then I left for nothing. But when I was down there and things were going sideways, and all I could think about...” His breath caught in his throat and he swallowed, “was you. Seeing you again.”

 

Arthur looked down at the boards, dull and dirty against the meticulous shine of his dress shoes.

 

“We, Ariadne and I, were sitting in this mezzanine, waiting for Dom to make contact with the target. He was going to tell the mark he was dreaming, and then use that... anyway, the projections started closing in, and... When I looked around, I saw you. Standing by a desk, looking at me... Our work had been slipping because Dom couldn't keep Mal out. I'd seen what she could do because he couldn't let her go and focus on the job. I couldn't let you in, too. So I kissed her. So I'd stop seeing you.”

 

Arthur raised his eyes. Diana sat, back turned to him, not moving. A silence, the long quiet that starts unuttered questions, filled the space between them.

 

“Did it work?” She asked quietly.

 

“Well enough.” Arthur shrugged halfheartedly and shook his head. “But I've never stopped thinking about you. I-”

 

Arthur didn't get a chance to finish, as with one quick, fluid movement Diana rose from the chair and turned, throwing her arms around his shoulders and locking her lips to his. Arthur stepped back, surprised by the momentum, then wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him. His head spun with the dizzying force of thoughts knocked out of alignment by the kiss.

 

He stopped thinking all together, letting himself be swept away by the moment. Diana's lips, her heartbeat, so close to his, the way her fingers trailed gently along his jaw. She broke the kiss and he bowed his head resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

 

“I love you.” He said quietly, trying in vain to stem the smile spreading across his face. Diana grinned broadly, studying his face, her fingers trailing through the hair at the nape of his neck.

 

“I love you, too.” Her eyes welled with emotion.

 

Arthur reached into his pocket, producing a familiar white gold ring, set with ornate milgrain designs and diamonds.

 

“I, uh... I hope you don't mind, but Ariadne found this in the drawer.” He held it before her, between thumb and forefinger. Tears slipped from her eyes as she looked at it.

 

“I thought maybe we could pick up where we left off.” He said gently.

 

Diana said nothing, smiling as she held her left hand out to him, fingers spread. He slipped the engagement ring on her finger and kissed her again.

 

They stood, wrapped in each other's arms, a pillar of living warmth against the chill autumn morning. Diana rested her head against Arthur's shoulder and he closed his eyes, pressing his temple against her hair.

 

“Is this real?” He asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

 

Diana held him tighter. “Have you found your footing?”

 

The breeze blew cold. Arthur's ears tingled with the curious warmth that always indicated too much time in the wind. The smell of damp grass and dry leaves filled the air. The wood of the porch gave slightly when he shifted his weight, echoing dimly against the ground in the space underneath. He nodded in answer to her question.

 

“Then open your eyes.”

 

Arthur did. In the East, the sun broke over the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you have enjoyed this arc. I may continue it at some point where I left off, but first I plan to go backward and tackle some of the preceding action in a prequel/ origin story. Please check in to see when I've started publishing.
> 
> If you've enjoyed this story, please leave a comment.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoy what you've read, please leave a comment.


End file.
